John Donne

 

                                           Sonnet 12

 

                   

                      Why are wee by all creatures waited on?

                      Why doe the prodigall elements supply

                       Life and food to mee, being more pure than I,

                      Simple, and further from corruption?

                      Why brook’s thou, ignorant horse, subjection?

                      Why dost thou bull, and bore so seelily

                      Dissemble weaknesse, and by’one mans stroke die,

                      Whose whole kinde, you might swallow and feed upon?

                      Weaker I am, woe is mee, and worse then you,

                      You have not sinn’d, nor need be timorous.

                       But wonder at a greater wonder, for to us

                       Created nature doth these things subdue,

                       But their Creator, whom sin, nor nature tyed,

                       For us, his Creatures, and his foes, hath dyed.

 

Джон  Донн

 

 

                               Зачем о крохе так печется свет?

                               Зачем дает мне жизнь и пищу дня

                               Тот мир, что совершеннее меня,

                               Что прост и чист, в котором порчи нет?

                               Зачем коню быть у ручья слугой?

                               Зачем ты, бык, смиреньем ослеплен,

                               Ударом человека умерщвлен,

                                Когда и сам бы мог убить его?

                                Я слаб и несомненно хуже вас,

                                Детей Творца, вы – чище и сильней,

                                Но – диво! – в подчиненье у людей,

                                Врагов Его. А Он нас, грешных, спас, -

                                - И это удивительней всего, -

                                 Ценою жизни  Сына Своего.

                                

                                                                                                     

                                                              

                                             Sonnet 5

 

                       I am a little world made cunningly

                       Of elements, and an Angelike spright,

                       But black sinne hath betraid to endless night

                       My worlds both parts and (oh) both parts must die.

                       You which beyond that heaven which was most high

                       Have found new sphears, and of new lands can write,

                       Powre new seas in mine eyes, that so I might

                       Drowne my world with my weeping earnestly.

                       Or wash it, if it must be drown’d no more:

                       But oh it must be burnt! Alas the fire

                       Of lust and envie have burnt it heretofore,

                       And made it fouler; Let their flames retire,

                       And burne me o Lord, with a fiery zeale

                       Of thee and thy house, which doth in eating heale.

 

                            

Джон Донн  

                                                    

                                 Я – малый мир, искусное сплетенье

                                Земного и небесного начал,                                 

                                Но черный грех там Ангела предал,

                                И с той поры я обречен на тленье.

                                О Ты, кому принадлежит простор

                                Небесных сфер, безбрежия морей,

                                В мои глаза всю эту влагу влей,

                                Чтобы в слезах я утопил позор.

                                А если невозможно, смой, прошу,

                                Все то, что в нас воспламеняет страсть:

                                Сомненья, зависть, блуд, - всю эту грязь,

                                Весь смрад, которым в мире я дышу.

                                Сожги меня, Господь, своим огнем,

                                Чтоб я, сгорая, исцелился в нем.